


Asshole Gourmand

by itsalwayssunnyintaubate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Comedy, Fingering, Humor, Kinkbingo, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, spnkinkbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 02:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18298127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyintaubate/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyintaubate
Summary: When Dean starts bragging about a special set of skills he claims to possess in the middle of a hunters' bar, Sam knows it's time to take him back to the motel.They don't really make it.





	Asshole Gourmand

“Told you,” Dean pulls his mouth away from his brother’s ass for long enough to gloat. “I’m an asshole sommelier.”

 _Fuckin’ Dean_ , Sam mentally curses. Not even when he has his tongue inside Sam’s ass, he stops being a jerk, which might in turn say something about Sam himself. After all, Sam’s the one who’s bracing himself with his arms stretched in front of him against the Impala’s trunk, ass sticking out in order to offer Dean all the access he wants to lick, suck, prod, nudge.

“Gourmand,” Sam retorts in a voice too breathless, too soft to convey any authority.

“What,” Dean grunts, pulling his mouth away again. Sam can almost _hear_ the frown in his voice.

“Gourmand,” he offers. Dean’s fingers press, testing the give of the muscles on Sam’s ass, thumbs sliding into furled skin, wet with saliva, but not breaching him. Sam can feel Dean’s every exhale, breath warm against his flesh. “Sommeliers… Don’t stop, Dean, don’t you dare,” Sam can’t help but demand when Dean freezes in place.

Dean responds by biting into the skin on top of his thigh, but he goes right back to what he’d been doing. Sam shouldn’t have doubted him, but it’s second nature to not take his brother seriously when he starts bragging about stuff.

Because that’s how it started. Bragging. _I’m more of an ass man, myself_ , Dean had said at that bar. They had come across some hunters and the bar they stopped turned out to belong to someone who knew someone who hunted with John Winchester that one time and soon Sam and Dean were being offered drink after drink. People just can’t help themselves when they realize they’re _those_ Winchesters. Always a ‘goddamn, son, I’m so sorry’ and at this point they don’t even know what exactly they’re sorry about.

The drinks are always welcome, though, and it’s such a familiar atmosphere that Dean ends up drinking more than he normally would outside the bunker. It gets them thinking of the hunters they’ve encountered on nights like this, the ones who are gone. Sam is not entirely sober either, but he’s sober enough to knows he has to take Dean home when the asshole starts talking about… well, _assholes_.

More specifically, his love for them. How good he is at them.

At eating ass.

He called himself a sommelier of ass and Sam immediately stood up, declaring that, _okay, it’s time to get you to bed, buddy_.

They were halfway to their motel when Dean shifted on the passenger seat and Sam though, _no, don’t throw up now_ , but it turned out Dean wasn’t _that_ drunk. Sam still stopped the car, though, and ended up where he is now when Dean got out of the car on unsteady feet.

Sam went after him, of course. Dean is, after all, his brother.

Which is not something he should be thinking about when Dean’s index finger joins his tongue in the mission of turning Sam into a puddle of ravenous lust. Yeah, to say Sam’s really into it would be an understatement. He’s on the verge of begging for it and that’s a new one, he thinks.

Especially because Dean starts talking, praising Sam, Sam’s body. “So hot, Sammy. You’re delicious,” he says and Sam blushes bright red, but still pushes back against Dean’s tongue and the curious touch of his fingers.

Since they started this — whatever this _thing_ is — almost a year ago, they haven’t done much other than rub against each other and kiss like they just discovered their tongues. And it’s not that they don’t want more, it’s just that they never, well… get around to it.

Yeah, an entire life of repression will do that to your resistance. Hair trigger doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Which is why Sam was in such a hurry to get Dean away from the bar as soon as the sex talk started. Because, you see, people there _knew_ they’re brothers. And Sam honest to god can’t be held responsible for his actions with the way Dean was looking at him back at the bar.

“Sommeliers drink, they don’t,” Sam continues, grasping at his former train of thought before it vanishes. “They don’t _eat_ , which is,” he begins, but pauses. Because Dean pauses what he’s doing.

“No, by all means, go ahead and educate me, Sam,” Dean says. He manages do sound annoyed even through the arousal darkening his voice. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Dean holds him open, a finger just barely inside him. Not enough. Not nearly enough. A slight pressure and Sam lets out a sobbing, “Fuck.”

“There you go,” Dean reward him by sinking in to the first knuckle, curling just short of pressing down on Sam’s prostate like he has a map of Sam’s body. “You’re so much better when inarticulate.”

Sam chuckles drily, moving back against Dean’s finger. “Fuck. You,” he chokes out.

“Maybe later, if you ask nicely,” Dean replies, teasing another finger alongside the first. And that’s an interesting idea. Dean’s ass and Sam’s cock, it could be a wonderful thing, but Sam has other ideas at the moment and if Dean doesn’t start fucking him for real within the next minute he doesn’t know what he might do.

Thankfully, Dean doesn’t seem to have much patience left either. He fucks Sam with quick, hard thrusts, clothes pushed away just enough for their bodies to connect, breathing heavy and groaning low inside his chest. When Sam comes, it’s with Dean’s fingers in his hair, Dean’s cock spilling warmth inside his body. He shakes through his climax and Dean holds him up, keeps fucking him until he has nothing else to give, until Dean’s gone soft, his seed spilling from Sam’s hole, thick, running down his thighs.

They breath together for a blessed, silent moment, and then Dean says, “An asshole _gourmand_ , then.”

Sam pulls his pants up with an eye-roll, afterglow busted. When he goes back inside the car, he’s threatening to leave Dean behind if Dean doesn’t get in. _Jerk_.

“Bitch,” Dean replies, smiling lazy and satisfied and — Sam glances at Dean —, so not sober yet. He’s going to have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you find anything too bizarre out there, this hasn't been beta'd


End file.
